


Scarlet

by Frechisia



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Big Sister Wanda Maximoff, Brainwashing, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Electrocution, Hallucinations, Hurt Peter Parker, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Whump, Peter's having a rough senior year, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, Sokovia Accords, Thaddeus Ross is a dick, Violence, We love May Parker in this household
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27640958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frechisia/pseuds/Frechisia
Summary: The slowly familiar shock ran through his body and he collapsed right at her feet. She sighed, and he heard static as she spoke into something. "Subject is especially defiant and resistant. Attempted physical attacks on all staff." The woman leaned down, face full of curiosity. "You are a rather fascinating person, Peter Parker. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to learn, and thank you for your service to our country."When Peter finally gets to meet the Avengers as they reunite, he finds himself the target of what started as a group of robbers but turned out to be much, much more.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	1. Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Just some continuity notes. Post-Thor Ragnarok, but not compliant with anything after. So Thor made New Asgard on Earth with the surviving Asgardians, nobody died as Infinity War and Endgame didn't happen. Peter's in his senior year, and the two sections of the Avengers are working on coming together. There's dates, but those just reflect a random year I chose and used for keeping the timeline of events in the fic more consistent. The rest can be figured out from the fic, but lmk in the comments if you think anything should be clarified.

**Sunday, October 7th**

Peter was going to die. He was going to stand on top of the old Avengers Tower, leap off, do a spectacular show of artistic flips before finally hitting the concrete. And it would be all Mr. Stark’s fault.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Peter dropped his pliers on the table aiming an exasperated stare at Mr. Stark’s bemused one. When he came back from patrol, this was not what he was expecting.

“You already met them.”

“I already _fought_ them. That’s different! I fight people all the time, but I haven’t officially met the other Avengers. Well, I mean, I talked a bit with them but —”

“That counts. Fighting’s our way of sitting around a table with food and drinks.” Mr. Stark went back to the hologram displaying the specs for a new device they were building. It didn’t have a name (well, Peter did have an idea and wanted to call it Casper but was immediately shut down) but once they were past the design stage, they’d think of something. 

Peter stared at Mr. Stark, wondering how everything would go down. He’d probably never get over the blossom of hero worship that always appeared every time he thought about the Avengers. They were his heroes, and always would be. But ever since putting on the suit he’d come to realize that they weren’t better than anyone else. They made mistakes, they fought each other, even betrayed one another for their own version of what was ‘right’.

He couldn’t forget Mr. Stark returning to Germany, bruises covering his face, a crack over his heart and carrying a shield that seemed heavier than the world. Needless to say, Captain America had fallen down from the pedestal that Peter never realized he put him on.

“While I am quite aware of my handsomeness, I’m taken by a beautiful, stressed redhead.” Peter blinked and quickly pulled on his mask, covering the blush of embarrassment. Mr. Stark simply huffed a short laugh and spun the specs into a 3-D diagram.

“Don’t worry, we called a truce. We’ll only be fighting for the remote from now on.” 

_“Rhodes has arrived with the ‘Rogue Avengers’,”_ FRIDAY announced. Peter raised an eyebrow at the name, privately noting the uptick in his mentor’s heartbeat. 

“So ‘Rogue Avengers’ is okay, but not Casper?” Peter got off his stool and followed Mr. Stark out the door, refusing to let him go alone. 

“Rogue maintains some kind of intimidating factor. It’s actually cool. Casper sounds like a kid hiding under a sheet.” They entered the living area where everyone’s assembled. Scarlet Witch, Hawkeye, and Black Widow sat down on the couch, Hawkeye waving his hands and telling some elaborate story about what sounded like his daughter. Standing next to the couch was Rhodey, Captain America and Falcon, making idle conversation.

The second the two of them were in view, the talking ceased. Peter fidgeted under their gazes, fumbling for something cool to say as an introduction. Anything to break the tense silence that had swallowed up the room.

“Hi,” he waved like a neighbor introducing themselves next door. Decidedly not as cool as he was going for, but the tension among everyone wavered. He’d consider that a win. “I’m Spider-Man.” Rhodey nodded up at him as a greeting, fighting the smile on his face at Peter’s words. Though the man seemed serious on the front, Peter’s been around him when he dropped by to see Mr. Stark. His best friend managed to pull out smiles and laughs from him on the regular, and Peter was glad he was somewhat able to do the same.

Captain America stepped up, a hand out to Peter with a calm but open face. “Nice to see you again, Queens.” 

Peter glanced at Mr. Stark, who’s face carefully slipped into fake indifference. He couldn’t tell what was going on in the billionaire’s head, but there didn’t seem to be any objection or hostility. Peter shook the outstretched hand, his eight year old self screaming that he was shaking hands with _the_ Captain America. “You too, Captain Rogers.”

Hawkeye snorted, but kept to himself with an elbow to the side from Black Widow. There was a slight upturn in the corner of Captain America’s mouth before he spoke. “Nice grip there. You can call me Steve.”

Considering the name always conjured up a hilarious internet video about your friend Steve, that was going to be a hard pass. And Mr. Rogers was taken. Maybe Cap was fine? Regardless, he nodded. 

“Guess we never got officially introduced, huh?” Cap pointed at each person as he said their name. “Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton and Wanda Maximoff.”

“Are you staying?” Ms. Romanoff asked. Out of all of them, she had to be the most unnerving. Her gaze felt like it pierced through him, trying to find any weakness possible. With what he’s heard about her, she probably was. 

“Uh, no. I just hang around here sometimes.”

The words seemed to be something important, because her eyes focused even further. “Did you sign?”

“No,” Mr. Stark answered for him. He crossed his arms, staring her down. “He didn’t. Personal reasons.”

“We all had personal reasons.” There was no biting tone, but the sharpness cut through the air all the same. Peter grasped for something to say. He wasn’t exactly an expert on the Sokovia Accords — he didn’t even know that was what the fight in Germany was about. It wasn’t until afterwards that he found out the reason they were fugitives. He wondered why Mr. Stark never had him sign it (which, after reading through, Peter wasn’t all too sure he would), but figured it must’ve been an age thing. He wasn’t even legal for a permit at the time, much less a United Nations agreement on his personal activities.

Cap stepped in to defuse the situation, choosing to stand in front of Mr. Stark. “And we have personal reasons for agreeing to this.”

All eyes fell on the duo in front of them. Mr. Stark remained quiet as they stared at each other, neither of their expressions readable. Then: "Yeah, well, I'm not a big fan of personal. Unless, it means I get to own something. Like a personal jet, personal assistant — "

"Tony, are you trying to make us feel more broke than usual, because that's petty." Sam huffed and crossed his arms, but the grin betrayed his faux dismay. "Real petty. I should get you to pet Red Wing with how petty that was."

"Sam, we love you, but your jokes are lame." Clint hopped off the couch, stretching momentarily before walking past Peter. "We have a debrief to do, and I am not doing all this on an empty stomach. Is the kitchen stocked?"

Mr. Stark snorted. "The only thing that's making me break the bank is feeding you all."

"As if your bank can be broken. Let's go." The archer turned to Peter, an eyebrow raised. "You coming?"

Before he could process, Peter was cutting off what would've been Mr. Stark's reply and nodding quickly. "Yeah. Of course." He caught up to Clint, ignoring the glare aimed at the back of his head. As if he was going to pass up a mission with the Avengers. He so had to tell Ned about all of this later. He was going to freak once he heard.

Wanda silently caught up to them both, for a moment gazing at Peter as they walked. If Ms. Romanoff's eyes were unnerving, Wanda's had to be downright unsettling. Hers didn't just pierce through him, it saw his soul through an open window without a curtain in sight. She didn't have to pierce through any barriers because there were none.

He kept down the shudder, feeling very open all of a sudden. She hummed, nodding before turning to Clint and continuing their conversation about his daughter. Turned out, she was a natural archer like him and growing better everyday. Who knew?

Peter walked into the kitchen and saw a man sitting down at the table. He had a mop of curly dark hair peppered with gray, and currently was unpacking what had to be dozens of bags of takeout. He paused once they came inside, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and standing up straight for everyone to see. "Uh, hi guys. Been awhile."

Peter felt himself get nudged aside as the others came in, voices overlapping one another as they realized who was there. Dr. Bruce Banner, one of the leading scientific minds in history and the strongest Avengers, swam underneath what must've been the biggest hoodie Peter's ever seen surrounded by food.

What was his life anymore?

Clint patted Dr. Banner on the back, picking at one of the open plates of orange chicken. "Been awhile? It's official, you're not allowed to leave us unsupervised. We had a whole break up and make up while you were gone."

"Yeah, Tony filled me in. Hear it's been a crazy time for all of us."

"How are you Bruce?" Ms. Romanoff looked — well, it wasn't soft, but it definitely was the softest he'd seen her. Dr. Banner mirrored her expression, if a bit more open.

"Good. Space was an interesting time."

"You were in space!" Dr. Banner finally seemed to notice him in the room, brows pinching as he took in Peter's appearance. "That's so cool. What was it like?"

"Nothing like Earth, that's for sure. Uh, who are you?" The other Avengers found places to sit around the kitchen. Wanda, Cap, Rhodey and Sam sat down at the table. Ms. Romanoff swiped some bags and perched on the counter, Clint settling beside her. Mr. Stark leaned back on a wall, simply surveying the scene and drinking a cup of coffee.

"I'm Spider-Man. I was part of the whole... Avengers Civil War." 

Dr. Banner nodded, picking up a cup of coffee beside Mr. Stark and sagging into the seat beside Sam. "When did sentences like that become the norm for us?" Peter shrugged, grabbing a plate of teriyaki chicken and rice before sitting down beside him. He pulled up the bottom of the mask, diving into the food in front of him.

"My question is when did you start calling it the 'Avengers Civil War'?" Mr. Stark had the same incredulous and bemused expression he had when Peter suggested the name Casper. "We literally fought in an airport parking lot."

"I like it," Ms. Romanoff said. "Dramatic. Memorable."

“Of course the arachnids agree,” Mr. Stark muttered into his cup. “All we need is the bug-man and we got Raid’s next ad.”

A retort was on the tip of his tongue when the words processed and Peter realized the man’s absence. “Where is he anyways?”

Clint answered. “Those of us on house arrest had the option to do some missions in exchange for losing our pretty black anklets. My kids wanted to go to Disney World next month, so I took it. He’s sticking out house arrest.” Huh. He didn’t even think about what might’ve happened to the people that were caught. He thought they all broke out, but then again some of them had families. They couldn’t just leave them behind.

“What about Thor?”

Dr. Banner winced. “He’s, uh, rebuilding. On Earth.” He shoved a spoonful of rice into his mouth, saying nothing more on the subject. Peter pouted. He was really, really looking forward to finally meeting the god of thunder.

Steve cleared his throat, leaning forward on the table as he looked around at everyone in the room. “The UN gave us a ‘practice assignment’, a chance for us to get into the swing of things before our official tasks start. There’s a warehouse in Connecticut that’s been manufacturing weapons, a lot of them using alien technology.” Peter perked up, eyes finding Mr. Stark’s for confirmation.

“Like Toomes?” 

Mr. Stark nodded. “Pretty sure they were either partners or rivals.” 

"Who?" Sam asked.

"This guy that used to clean up the damage after fights, but then lost his job when the government decided to do that instead. Stole alien tech. Made weapons. Sold weapons. Spidey took him down a while back." Peter shoved another spoonful into his mouth before his face could split into a toothy grin. Pride welled up inside hearing the words come out of Mr. Stark's mouth. He took down Toomes, and the Avengers knew.

Of course, they didn't know the many, many complications during it.

Clint shrugged. "Should be easy enough for all of us to do then. Do we know what weapons they have?"

Cap shook his head. "Just what they're derived from. We can depart in thirty and make a more detailed game plan from there." His gaze found Peter. "You in, Spider-Man?"

"I'm sure Spider-Man has lots of other things to do." Mr. Stark made a face that clearly said, 'absolutely not'. "There's stuff to be built, lives to be saved, bikes to be returned. Plus, the seven of us are overkill as it is."

"Do you, Spider-Man?" Ms. Romanoff faced him with a slight smirk, and Peter had a sudden feeling that she knew a lot more than she let on. Still, arachnid bond. She definitely didn't seem to want to keep him at the compound. "With all of us, it wouldn't take much time away from returning bikes."

The choice was easy. "I'm in." Mr. Stark's face told him that there was a lot of suit hacking and lecturing to be had later, but nothing was going to make Peter pass this up.

* * *

This was, Peter decided, nothing like Toomes' operation. While he had a few guys working out of a warehouse, and they made good money, this was an actual business. It was organized and streamlined, a factory more than anything. There were supervisors, engineers, and testers doing their jobs as if it didn't put lives in danger.

Also, there was security. A lot of outfitted, professional security. Enough that nearly all entrances were guarded, and those that weren't had automatic systems to alert of any unauthorized presence. A surprise attack was out of the question.

Which didn't really matter anyway. The Avengers weren't known for going in quietly.

Dr. Banner stayed behind on the Quinjet to provide cover and interference. Everyone unanimously agreed that the Hulk shouldn't be anywhere near highly explosive and volatile weapons unless as a last resort. Wanda landed first, flying to the ground in a burst of red and like a pulley, the guards in front of her were yanked up into the sky before crashing down, unconscious.

"Front entrance is clear. Iron Man, Falcon, we’re clear. Everyone else, attention is being diverted from the southeast entrance, lacking guards and with a quickly bypassed system.” 

Peter wanted to complain about the position he got. He knew that he could be doing a lot of damage with the three of them bursting through the front, taking out weapons and personnel directly. A lot of them would be webbed up by then, and he could make sure they had someone watching their back.

He told Iron Man so, but even Cap disagreed. They thought it'd be better for him to sneak in with the others while Scarlet Witch, Falcon and Iron Man made a distraction. How they thought Peter of all people, who held entire conversations during fights and wore bright red and blue, would be more useful in the covert area of the mission, he didn't know.

Still, he got lucky to even be with the Avengers, so maybe he could stand to listen to them. Occasionally.

Hawkeye placed an arrow with a blunt, electronic head on the pad beside the entrance. A few sparks later, the doors opened up to an empty hallway drowned in red and filled with sirens.

"All personnel commence evacuation procedures. Stay calm and follow the policies in place. Those that deviate and are jeopardized because of it will not be concerned for." Huh. So they really were a business. Cut losses and maximize profits. If it weren't for the fact that they were manufacturing weapons secretly, they would be the new (well, pre-Afghanistan) Stark Industries.

And wasn't that something to be worried about. 

Widow and Cap were in front with him and Hawkeye bringing up the rear. Every so often they'd stop at a corner, pushing themselves against a wall as workers ran down the halls.

Most of the areas ended up being empty. Not even left unattended in a rush like expected, but all equipment and people were gone, leaving the rooms like they'd never had anyone inside. They finally got a break when they approached a giant pair of steel double doors labeled 'AUTHORIZED MEMBERS ONLY'.

That was an invitation if they've ever seen one. Hawkeye used another one of his arrows to short out the panel and the doors opened. The room was a huge lab, the size of a hangar. On the sides were rows of tables covered in stray parts and glowing stones Peter recognized to be Chitauri tech. In the middle was what must've been the testing area, barred off by yellow and black tape on the floor. In the back, a man and a woman held items in their hands, eyes frozen on the four of them as they blocked the only exit in the room.

Peter pointed up at one of the ceiling's speakers. "Didn't you guys hear the announcement? You should've listened. You deviated. You're jeopardized. And you should be very concerned."

"Drop everything and surrender," Cap commanded. And like always, the generically evil scientists didn't comply. It was always the smart ones who lacked common sense. Peter could personally confirm it.

The woman slid a silver gauntlet on and opened her hand in their direction, the blue light in the middle of the palm reminding Peter of Iron Man’s suit. He felt a buzz in the back of his head as Black Widow aimed her stingers, ready to take a shot and end the fight before it started. 

She didn’t get a chance.

Out of the gauntlet came a deafening screech, shaking the room and blowing everyone back. Peter rolled before hopping up to crouch on the nearest wall, shaking his head. The sound ended as quickly as it began, but then another buzz, louder, had him swinging from the high ceiling towards the two. 

The next sonic blast shook his body, painful vibrations wracking his bones as his momentum slowed. He gritted his teeth, shooting another web and swinging before letting go and letting gravity do the rest.

His feet made contact with her chest and she fell to the ground. Shifting his weight so his strength didn’t crush her, Peter went for the gauntlet. 

His head _blared_. 

Still figuring out how to get the glove off without taking the woman’s hand with it (he noted how it adjusted to fit the form of her hand, kind of like his suit), Peter looked around for a sign of danger. 

“Duck!”

Well, he wasn’t going to question the Captain. Peter ducked his head, and half a second later the floor vibrated as Cap’s shield came into contact with something very, very strong. Not even getting a chance to look up at the shield covering him before, the woman’s fist opened in his hand, blasting Peter across the room. 

He rolled with the hit, ignoring the mild ache that came with the landing. Looking up, he could see Cap and Black Widow tangling with the guy, who swung around a black ball on a chain.With every swing through the air, the ball gave off a blue pulse. The man aimed at Widow, only for her to dodge and for the ball to hit the ground, completely demolishing the metal underneath.

Huh. Cool. A bit terrifying, but cool. 

Hawkeye was having a bit more trouble, if only because the woman turned out to be agile and quick enough to dodge all the arrows. Peter decided his help was needed there. 

When Hawkeye shot a bola arrow, immobilizing her legs, Peter leapt and wrapped his arms around her upper arms and chest. He kept his head out of the way of her head butt. "Hey, we both need the neurons. Don't make me lose any." She snarled and opened her fist to the ground. Peter's head tingled, and soon she let off a blast. They launched into the ceiling, his back taking the brunt of the collision. Dust dropped into the area from the busted panels, blocking his vision.

He stuck to the ceiling as she fell, using the sonic blasts to cushion her landing. But why didn't it break the floor? It should've — oh. _Ohhh._ Peter smiled beneath his mask, forming an idea. He pressed on his comm, not wanting to shout out his plan.

"Cap? Can we switch dance partners real quick? Your shield is more likely to sweep the lady off her feet."

"Yeah — " Cap grunted, and another shake hit the room. "Well, she didn't take to it earlier."

"Flip it around. Use the other side, the shape helps direct the blasts back at her. Plus, vibranium does really well with sound, as I've been told." The dust cleared some, allowing Peter to see Cap running in the woman's direction. He dropped down beside Widow, ducking under another swing. 

“So what’s his issue?”

“The more he swings it, the stronger he gets.” Okay, that he could work with. Maybe the ball was charged with kinetic energy? That way, every move it made increased the strength. And it’d also explain the chain, which probably kept the weight off — 

A body knocked him to the ground, and before he could even process what happened, a crater formed in his old spot. Widow gave him an unimpressed look. “Watch the ball, Spider-Man.” 

“How about I catch it instead?” They moved out of the way again before she put a hand across his shoulder, keeping him back. “Can you distract him real quick?”

“You could rip your arms off.”

“I’ve been in worse and came out in one piece.” He thought back to the ferry. Not his best moment, but if he could handle nearly being torn in half then, he could handle this now.

Black Widow didn’t say anything else, instead choosing to jump over the chain and kicking the man in the face. The man faltered mid-swing as the ball passed, and Peter took the chance. He grabbed the area of the chain right beneath the ball.

He quickly realized he may not have completely thought this through. The chain didn’t stop moving, and instead his feet were lifted off the ground and thrown with the ball. A few spins left his head spinning, but what was worse was the man gearing up to slam him into the ground. He pulled his weight down, slamming and sticking his feet to the floor. He spun the chain himself, watching as the man found himself spun around off his feet just like he was.

“Let go!” Peter yelled. Finally, the man seemed to listen and let himself get thrown, with Black Widow giving chase to where he fell. Peter used the small length of chain he held onto the ball himself. Weirdly enough, the ball didn’t seem to stop spinning, as if carried by its own inertia. He had to let go, but since he didn’t want it just flying anywhere…

Peter waited for the right time before letting go, watching it fly down and burst through the ground in front of him. It went clean through, even past the basement underneath. Given by the sounds, it definitely hit underground.

Out of bad guy hands. Job well done, if he did say so himself.

Peter turned just in time to see Cap flip his shield in the woman’s direction, and the sonic blast redirected back at her. She was thrown off her feet and onto the ground a few feet away, allowing Hawkeye to shoot what seemed to be an EMP or electricity arrow at the center of her palm, sparking and disabling the gauntlet. 

“Yes! Another win for the good guys.” He held up a hand for a high five, only receiving odd looks from Black Widow and Cap. He grinned sheepishly, about to put his hand down when Hawkeye smacked it. 

“C’mon, you don’t leave people hanging like that.” Hawkeye adjusted his quiver, pulling out a section of rope and tying up the woman. Widow had already tied up the man, who had tipped over, unconscious.

Walking outside, Peter saw Dr. Banner and Iron Man conversing over some tech they retrieved. Scarlet Witch and Falcon were interrogating two of the security guards, and by the looks of the babbling guard, were succeeding. Black Widow and Hawkeye dragged their prisoners to where the others kept the captured criminals. Cap walked up next to him, nudging Peter softly to get his attention.

“You did good out there today. Don’t know if you’re official or just hanging out occasionally, but either way, you did good with the team.”

“I’m… I’m not —” _Don’t freak out don’t freak out don’t freak out._

“No?” Cap patted him on the back, a tired but triumphant smile on his face. “In that case, I hope one day we can say ‘Welcome to the Avengers’.” He jogged away to converse with Iron Man, leaving Peter to watch the scene around him. Seven of the world’s greatest heroes. 

And he just might be one of them.


	2. Meeting the Kid

**Monday, October 8th**

"Dude, it was insane!" Peter went up on a swing, letting go with a 'whoop' before falling back down and shooting a web at the next building. "There was this woman with a glove that emitted sonic blasts, and this dude who had like a mini wrecking ball, but charged with kinetic energy so it had massive damage."

"Seriously? That's so awesome," he could hear Ned spinning in glee in his computer chair. "But how was it working with the Avengers? Did you get any autographs?"

"It's weird getting autographs when I kind of am an Avenger." And at the time there were no pens or items Peter actually wanted signed, so he planned to do it later, when he saw them again. "And they were so cool. Like Cap blocked the wrecking ball with his shield, and you could feel the impact but he didn't even flinch. And Widow didn't get hit once. She looks like she's dancing when she's dodging. And Hawkeye made this one — " Peter cut himself off, hearing shots fired in the distance. "Ned, did you hear that? Is there anything going on nearby?"

There were a few seconds of clicking as Peter changed direction, moving towards the sound. "There's some guys hitting up a restaurant on 53rd a block away. But watch out, they look hella armored for just a store robbery."

"We've seen people use alien weapons on ATM's, I doubt anything's more extreme than - oh." Peter landed on the rooftop across the street, eyes landing on the group of individuals decked out in all-black. The padding was ridiculous, with the rifles and helmets making them look like SWAT had come onto the scene. 

"You said it was a restaurant, right? Not a bank, or a treasury or anything?"

"It's some fancy Chinese place. Maybe they're the type to be overprepared rather than underprepared? You know, the overachievers of robberies?"

"Let's see." Peter hopped down, sliding in through the restaurant door undetected. The robbers had their rifles at the ready, aimed at possible hiding spaces, as if someone had stayed after closing and would pop out. A few were searching the front desk register for money, and others were looking around for what was probably a safe. Peter webbed the two closest to him to the walls, jumping onto the ceiling when bullets landed in his previous spot.

"Hey, chill out. It's just the fashion police. That much black is only allowed at funerals or Hot Topic. Sorry, but them's the rules. I'll have to take you in." He spoke as he dodged more, webbing up the weapons (and occasionally shooters) as he leaped around between the tables, ceiling and the walls. Though he managed to get out of the way, doing so was much more difficult than it usually was. He was almost relying entirely on his spider-sense, everything moving too fast for even him to register.

Still, it wasn't long before everyone was taken down, either knocked unconscious or webbed down. He wiped his hands against each other, taking a moment to catch his breath. "Come to think of it, NYPD probably has supreme jurisdiction, you breaking the law and everything. They'll handle you." Peter did a short wave, making a short call to the police before swinging away from the scene, talking to Ned for the rest of the night.

* * *

Peter yawned, stretching in the elevator. Not five minutes ago he was sleeping in Happy's car, too tired to even be excited on the way like he usually was, brain too foggy to remember what he’d been thinking about before his nap. Almost the entire week he's been running on a few hours he managed to sneak in, because without fail the all-in-black robbers had returned.

Every. Single. Night.

Monday was fine. Tuesday, he thought they just didn't learn their lesson. Wednesday, he thought they were persistent. Now that it was Friday, he had to wonder why they kept coming back, and why they weren’t in jail. Did they not get charged? Or was it different people in masks every time he fought? Last night, he wanted to find something on them, and so managed to snag a helmet and some body armor from one of them. Both pieces sat inside the duffle bag slung across his shoulder, ready for inspection.

As the elevator dinged open, he blinked away the blur in his eyes, more alert than he was that morning. Some food, some lab work, and he'd be good to go.

"You lost kid?" Peter froze. Right. That's what he was trying to remember. He was going to introduce himself to the Avengers, properly this time. Last week, he didn't even think about taking off his mask, too caught up in the unbelievable craziness that was meeting them. He had thought about what he said and everything.

His brain, still waking up from his impromptu nap, was slow to put the sentences together. What came out was: "No?"

Sam, who had asked the question, raised an eyebrow. "Did one of us have a secret kid? Or, let me guess, opened your closet and fell through?"

Peter, finally getting his thoughts together, made to answer, until Mr. Stark did so for him. "That's Spiderman." He didn't look up from the tablet in his hand as he sat on the couch, snacking on a bag of blueberries.

"C'mon, Mr. Stark!" He only got an amused twist of a smile in response. That was not the way he planned on letting everyone know who he was. Regardless, he turned to the others in the common room, preparing to speak only to stop at their reactions.

Ms. Romanoff had a concerned expression on her face, the drink in her hand almost strangled by her white grip. Wanda's concern was more open, and underneath that was a worrying layer of anger. Sam was pure surprise, as if still registering the fact of Peter's identity. And Cap... well, he couldn't quite tell what Cap thought. His face was unreadable behind the mug he sipped from.

"How old are you?" Wanda finally asked.

"Seventeen." And then everything came at once.

"Stark, what were you thinking!"

"I got my ass handed to me by a freaking _kid_."

"You're too young to be involved in — "

Peter held his hands up, trying to chill out the crowd. "Hey, it's cool. I've been doing this for a while, even before Mr. Stark came into the picture."

"Where are your parents?" Ms. Romanoff crossed her arms, staring at his face like she’s just now seeing it.

“My aunt’s cool with me being Spiderman.” That earned a cough and a glare from Mr. Stark, making Peter wince. Considering how many times the man’s been on the receiving end of a rant or five from his aunt, they both knew that wasn’t completely true. “Mostly.”

Ms. Romanoff hummed, but didn’t say anything else. Wanda, however, still wasn’t satisfied. She rounded on Mr. Stark who, for his part, maintained a perfectly formed cool exterior. 

“How could you let us fight a child! He could’ve gotten hurt.” 

"But I didn't," Peter tried. "Mr. Stark — "

Wanda didn't want to hear it. "The battlefield is no place for a child."

"Yeah, well the world is a battlefield." Mr. Stark responded, eyes meeting hers head on. Despite him sitting, somehow it felt as if the both of them were equal height. "If he's going to be in it, he might as well learn the right way to fight."

"He shouldn't be fighting. He should be living."

"And what happens when the fight's brought to his doorstep? What happens when there isn't a choice in the matter?"

"Like you brought it to his?" Wanda clenched her fists, and little items around the room began to shake. Mr. Stark didn't flinch. The tension inflated in the room, on the point of bursting. Peter floundered for a way to defuse it, but luckily, like she always seemed to do, Ms. Romanoff handled the situation.

"You're being quiet, Steve." Everyone turned the focus to the man in question, who set down his mug.

He shrugged, the gesture somehow weird in Peter's mind who's always seen him as uptight, strict rules and neighborhood sweetheart Steve Rogers. "I don't like that I fought a kid, especially without knowing, but he handled his own. And I have no place to say anything. I tried to sneak into the war since I was eighteen and could barely breath on my own. There's always going to be kids who want to fight, regardless of what people do to stop them.” Cap smiled at him, making him believe that he understood much more than Peter ever gave him credit for, before going back to his mug and newspaper.

Mr. Stark snorted. "And believe me, I've tried."

Peter shrugged unapologetically. "I'm not going to, either." It would absolutely suck if the Avengers wanted him to stop, but there was no way he would. They couldn't save everyone, and Peter couldn't sit and do nothing while there were people to save. He just couldn't.

Sam laughed. "Wait until Clint hears about this. And Banner. Man, he's going to go through a heart attack with all this news coming left and right."

Peter adjusted the duffle on his back, remembering what he had planned to do. "Hey, Mr. Stark, you wouldn't happen to know how to trace items to it's production? Like, weapons?"

His eyes squinted at the duffle. "I could do it for you. What's in the bag?"

"...Some stuff I picked up." As expected, that didn't tame his mentor's suspicion. In fact, he was getting up and reaching for the bag. Peter pulled back, shaking his head. "I got it. You're busy anyways."

"No, I'm — "

"Tony, we have our first U.N. assigned mission tonight. We have to plan out what we're doing to get past defenses and to shut them down." Cap stopped looking at the newspaper, putting down the empty mug. "He can handle looking something up, right? FRIDAY does most of it anyways, doesn't she?"

"Yeah!" Peter quickly hopped onto Cap's train of thought. "She can help me, It'll be fine."

Mr. Stark appeared reluctant, but eventually exaggerated a sigh and waved his arms up. "Fine, we'll work on the mission and you can do your search. But if whatever you’re looking for is too dangerous, tell me. Also, if that thing is alien or energy based, you either tell me right now or when you find out." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't want to destroy another monument, do we?"

Peter flushed, looking away from all the stares. How was he supposed to know it would blow up? "That was an accident." He pointed to the elevator, excusing himself with an awkward goodbye. 

Smooth, Parker. Real smooth.

He plopped the bag onto a table, zipping it open and dumping out the armor pieces. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Peter?” She replied. Her and Karen’s voice always managed to brighten things. Two AI’s created from brilliant lines of code to form what were basically human responses (and if he were to be honest, maybe human emotions). It was a scientific miracle, and he got to interact with them everyday.

“Can you find where this armor was produced?”

“Of course. However, due to the lack of specialized or signature features on them, it will take searching a significantly higher amount of data, and therefore longer time.”

“How long?”

“Approximately thirty-eight hours at the longest.”

“Seriously?”

“In some cases the data is not documented and so I will have to assume an identity and contact someone to gain information. The time depends on how long they insist on waiting before responding. In the meantime, however, I can analyze the actual components and get back to you in a few minutes.”

He briefly considered how insane the idea of FRIDAY essentially catfishing weapons dealers was before focusing on the task at hand. “Awesome, Fri.” Peter moved towards one of the tables near the back of the room, pulling up the specs of Casper (given that Mr. Stark had yet to make a better name, that’s what Peter went with). He stared at what they had so far, trying to wrap his head around all of it. The concept itself was easy to understand, but the execution… they couldn’t even get past the design stage.

But it was going to be amazing, once they did figure it out. Mr. Stark was a genius who was too stubborn to quit, and when Peter questioned his own contributions, the man made sure that he knew he deserved his spot in the lab. Not always done smoothly, but definitely in such a Tony Stark way that made him remember why Iron Man was his favorite Avenger.

“Analysis complete. Would you like me to go through them?” He hummed a confirmation and pulled up a holographic breakdown of the armor. “The chestplate is titanium-infused kevlar. The helmet is a magnesium alloy laced in thin steel with a layer of kevlar and expanded polystyrene. The visor is a one way glass covered in a thin sheet of aluminum. Inside the helmet also appears to be a small projection device, presumably to project images onto the inside of the visor.” 

Woah. Okay, a lot to consider. For one, these were no run of the mill thugs. Despite only hitting up stores and restaurants, they came heavily loaded. So either they had quite the amount of money to spend and bought the uniforms or, more likely given their targets, they stole them. Which also brought up the question of who they stole it from. 

Peter leaned forward on the desk and began pulling up screens. Time for work.

* * *

Nothing got done.

A whole Saturday of nothing but searching, designing, and investigating (well, whatever evidence he could find from FRIDAY) and not a single breakthrough. Not in Casper, or the gear, or even who the people were.

He sighed, shuffling into the kitchen and pulling his hoodie closer around him. The tower remained cool for several purposes, including all the tech and the occasional housing of a human gamma reactor, which was fine and all until something over heated, sending the temp controls into overdrive to compensate.

That was trial twelve that morning. Needless to say, DUM-E did not approve.

“You may be the only kid I know that willingly gets up this early and still looks like the dead.” 

Peter slowed his walk, his brain attempting to process the image before him. Cap had an apron on and stood in front of the stove, several skillets filled with an assortment of breakfast food. There was already an arrangement of fruit and drinks on the table, from orange juice to coffee. Ms. Romanoff bit into an apple as she leaned back in her seat with a cup of tea. Sam nursed a coffee as he read an article in the newspaper. Dr. Banner ate a fruit salad, looking at a series of notes on his tablet. Wanda stood by Steve, observing and occasionally noting a similar recipe from Sokovia.

The entire scene was so... domestic. He didn't really know what to expect (well, he wasn't expecting anything at all, really) but the quiet morning in front of him definitely wasn't it. Especially Cap making breakfast for everyone.

The thought had trouble processing. Captain America was making him breakfast.

"There's french toast, bacon and pancakes. I don't know how you like your eggs, so I hope scrambled is fine." Peter just nodded, sitting down next to Dr. Banner and attempting to take a glance at the notes. A lot of it was gibberish: a combination of the higher level of physics involved and the scribbled handwriting. Occasionally he could pick out some diagrams and equations, settling on one of — 

"Adhesive gloves?" Dr. Banner looked at him startled, not realizing Peter had been there.

"Uh, yeah. I wanted to design my own, compare it to yours, see if I could improve upon it.”

Peter scratched the back of his head. “Oh, well, there’s not much to compare to. I don’t use gloves. I’m just… really sticky.”

Four pairs of eyes turned on him (and a questioning glance from Steve). "You're sticky?" Sam asked, looking like he had to physically hold back from laughing. Alright, could've been better worded but still. It wasn't _that_ funny.

"Yeah." He put his hand on the top of one of the glasses, lifting his arm up and allowing the cup to hang from the palm of his hand. Dr. Banner stared, looking for all the world like he found a new breakthrough and wanted to know more. "I stick to objects."

"So you're enhanced? What else can you do?" Wanda sat down at the table across from him with interested eyes. Not invasive, this time, just curious.

"I know strength has to be one of them. Don't know if you're just naturally that agile though or if it's the enhancements." Steve set out large plates along the table, placing the finished foods on each one.

"Strength, faster than the average human," Peter thought about before when he couldn't even stretch without pulling a muscle, "agility is definitely not natural.”

“Wait, so where do the webs…”

“That’s not - I have web shooters. They’re devices that shoot out webs, which are synthetic and made in a lab. My body doesn’t shoot out webbing. That would be...” Peter decided that it would be a great time to try Cap’s breakfast and promptly started placing food onto his plate. For once he didn’t have to hold back on eating, as Cap had made enormous amounts for everyone. Still, the piles on his plate didn’t go unnoticed, 

"Fast metabolism?" Dr. Banner questioned. Peter nodded, and prepared himself for the look of judgement he usually received. Instead, what met him was a curious squint and what might've been an... empathetic smile from Cap. 

"I figured no one who could lift a jet bridge could live off a standard diet." 

"That does mean we need to have your intake done." Dr. Banner started making a new set of notes, another set of messy scribbles appearing as he spoke.

"Intake?" Peter paused in his eating, attempting to decipher the new writing.

"Like a physical, but for people that aren't... normal. SHIELD generally does it —"

"No!" He winced at his own outburst, garnering questioning looks. "Mr. Stark was clear that SHIELD and I would not mix well. I do want to try keeping my identity secret. Well, as secret as I can."

"At least Tony did one smart thing," Ms. Romanoff commented. Peter prepared a retort, which boiled down to listing all the genius things Mr. Stark had done, but was distracted by Sam's question. 

"How strong are you?" 

"Pretty strong? I never measured it. Definitely above 10 tons, I don't think I could've handled the aerobridge otherwise." Sam gave a low whistle and drank from his coffee. Dr. Banner scribbled more, though by then Peter gave up on trying to read it. 

"We can have intake done tomorrow. Better have it soon as possible in case of any emergencies." 

Peter’s phone vibrated, and the second he saw the text he jumped out of his seat, gathering his empty dishes and dumping them. “I gotta go. Thank you for the breakfast, Cap.” He headed straight for the elevator, body bouncing with excitement. FRIDAY finished the search, which meant he finally had a lead on these ‘Masked Marauders’, and soon could put them in a jail cell for good.

* * *

Natasha watched Peter leave the kitchen in a hurry. The kid was definitely on the excitable side, jittery and talkative even if he may not realize it. Also was still a bit new, but considering all the enhancements he had it wasn’t a surprise that he lasted this long. Granted, powers wouldn’t stand a chance when paired with reckless stupidity, and while she could see a bit of recklessness, there thankfully wasn’t any stupidity.

At least none she could gleam so far. There’s always time to prove her wrong.

“Quite the kid, huh?” Steve sat down, piling food on his plate, slightly less than Peter’s. She at least hoped the kid was getting enough food at home…

“At least I know why I almost got taken down by a fifteen-year-old.” 

Wanda hid a laugh behind her coffee as Natasha raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Almost? Redwing seemed to be the one doing all the work.”

“Redwing and I are a team. He takes Spider-boy down, we both get credit.”

She still had to do background on him. Tony must've already, but her checks tended to go a bit more... in depth. She considered cutting him some slack; he was only a kid.

But then so had she.

However, she chose not to suspect anything until she got evidence. Peter didn't set off any internal alarms, and Wanda's peep into his mind (which was not as innocuous as she might've thought, but Natasha was working on stealth with her) didn't seem to bother the girl enough to bring it up. 

Natasha was going to follow her instincts on this one, she just needed a little proof to make sure. 

"He probably has an enhanced healing factor too," Bruce mumbled. He seemed to think deeply before his face lit up, and she could practically see the lightbulb going off in his head. "In a lot of ways he's a lot like you, Steve."

The atmosphere grew serious with the implication. Sam leaned forward, cautious disbelief written on his face. "You don't think..."

"We don't know how he got his powers. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why Tony took an interest in him. Though anyone swinging around New York prompts some kind of questioning."

"Tony wouldn't hide —"

"He absolutely would, Steve." Natasha knew how Tony felt about his projects and life in general. As loud as his personality was, he kept almost everything quiet and close to the chest. He didn't like sharing anything, which was why she couldn't simply interrogate him about Peter. 

"Where his powers come from doesn't matter." Wanda stood up, staring the group down fiercely. "He's a good kid. A sad one, but a good kid."

"If someone's replicating the super-soldier serum —"

"We deal with them, but not Peter." Natasha read the warning: go after Peter, and they'll deal with her.

Natasha had a few theories as to why Wanda was so protective of him so quickly, but chose to leave it for another day. If her instincts were right (and they usually are), it wouldn't become a problem. If they were wrong, well, the Avengers survived one civil war, they might survive another.


	3. Accelerate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: violence, hallucinations, non-consensual drug use.
> 
> Yeah, things are getting dark real quick.

**Monday, October 15th**

It went so wrong so fast.

Peter finally, finally thought that he had the upper hand. FRIDAY identified the source of the armor to be from a special ops team of the United States government, and as the government wasn’t in the business of robbing restaurants and convenience stores, that meant the gear was stolen.

So many things didn’t add up. The same people who couldn’t get away with a dollar in cash somehow came into possession of armor from a section of the government so secret FRIDAY had trouble finding its existence. Despite being practically nobodies who couldn’t even take a hotdog stand, they never stayed in jail once. They had to be capable of more.

And apparently, they thought the same. 

Maybe they got bored, maybe they got tired of the routine. Either way, instead of making the best decision for everyone involved and quitting, they upped the ante. 

And by upping the ante, they did the one thing that Peter tried to avoid at all costs. They got civilians involved.

Every other fight was in a mostly deserted building, often closed by the time they arrived. A bit of property damage but nothing insurance and a little Stark money couldn’t handle. But this time? He was in a half-full late night bar, pulling residents out of the crossfire while attempting to disarm all the criminals. It was difficult, but he was almost finished. There was one shooter left standing, and one last person, a girl barely older than him, out in the open. It could’ve been handled. It should’ve been handled.

Except Peter saw a red dot land on the center of the girl’s forehead. He didn’t have time to think about where the sniper came from, or why they decided to target her, he only shot a web to pull her out of the way. For one second, he broke his attention.

His body shook, screaming at him _danger_ , but like that god-awful garage, he couldn’t do anything except wait for everything to fall. 

And he fell.

He heard the pop go off, but he didn't feel the impact. His only clue that he was hit was his leg giving out, causing him to collapse onto the floor. The girl screamed. Sirens rang in the distance. Feet pounded the floor towards the exit.

No. He was not letting them get away. Peter pushed himself to his feet, leaning on his left, and shot a web at the last one. It did a pathetic swoop before completely missing the mark and hitting the wall. Without a glance back, the last of them were gone.

Peter spun around, realizing the sudden emptiness of the bar. All of them were gone.

_Shit_. He cursed over and over in his head, grasping at his head as he realized how colossally he failed. They trashed the place, put people in danger, and escaped! How was he supposed to find them now?

The sirens grew louder. That... that wasn't good. That meant time to go.

He stumbled out the back with a hand to his leg, which was bleeding out a lot more than he's seen before. It was enough to make his head spin at the sight.

He squinted down the alleyway, and thanked whoever that the fight scared off any creeps, because at the moment he probably couldn't even take Flash.

Flash. Huh. He could use a car about then. A fancy fast one. Like Flash drove. Like Mr. Stark drove.

Mr. Stark! He'd know what to do. Peter went farther down the alley, limping as the ground appeared to shift under him. He wondered if this always happened when people got shot, but shook his head and kept moving. He wasn't going to try it again to see.

Wait, he was going to do something. What was it? God, why couldn't he think?

He bet that guy chilling by the corner could think. He looked like a thinker, the way he stared at Peter like he was a puzzle. Actually, maybe not a puzzle, more like a game? No, maybe like a misworded Chemistry homework question. Either way, he seemed to have some thought processes going on. With the way Peter's head pounded, he could barely focus enough to put one foot in front of another. That guy seemed to be able to do that too, easy. First foot, second foot. First foot, second foot. Right up to...

Oh. Right in front of him now. When did he get there so fast?

"The fuck?" Well, that's one way to greet people. "What kind of crazy club you walk out of?"

"The bar, actually." Wait, don't say that. "Not that I drank there. I'm not legal to drink yet." Yeah, sounds better. Spider-Man couldn't go around saying he drank at bars. What kind of role model would he be?

"Kid, that shit looks serious. You need to get some help."

"What?" He followed the man's line of sight down to his leg, where - oh. Yeah. Shot. "I forgot that was there. Doesn't even hurt."

"You're either drunk, high, in shock or all of the above. You gotta phone? I'll call an ambulance if —”

Peter shook his head. That was an absolute no-no. Ambulances meant hospitals which meant tests which meant needles which meant samples which — hey, why did the dude start running? "Hey, come back! I'm not going to do anything!"

"No, but we are." Peter turned, coming face to face (or face to faces) with three guys, who looked a lot less nicer than the man he was talking to. Maybe it was the scowls. Or the knives.

It was definitely the knives. Mean faces weren't that scary. Unless you were Mr. Stark. Then it was terrifying.

Right. He needed Mr. Stark. He needed him like two hours (or maybe ten minutes... time was being weird) ago when he had that fight in the bar. Then he wouldn't be here about to be stabbed by some dudes in the alley behind what looked like a liquor store.

"Aw shit, I need to call Mr. Stark. How do I call Mr. Stark? I don't have my phone on me?"

"Spider-boy needs his daddy to come pick him up?"

"Should've thought about that before you started bustin' our friends." 

"It's Spider- _Man_!" Yeah, he was _Spider-Man_. He took down the Vulture, threw whole gangs into jail, and was basically an Avenger. He could handle these chumps. Peter threw a fist —

— and a sharp, tearing pain pierced in his stomach, stealing the breath from his lungs. For a moment, the thought that he just got stabbed didn’t process. Where was his warning? His spidey-sense? He should’ve known the knife was coming, even if for whatever reason he didn’t actually see it.

Then he also realized that his head was still pounding, and his body was still shaking like it was having its own earthquake. And the ominous, fear-inducing dread hadn’t quite packed up and left since that girl was almost shot.

Peter tried to move back, only for his leg to give out again and land him flat on his ass. He looked up, the figures no longer random guys, but monsters. Real monsters. Toomes smiled, hands jittering like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on him. Next to him was the burglar, the one who made his home a nightmare, who took away one of the few people he had left. Then there was _him_. Peter stared up into his own vacant face, the only one not smiling, the only one not expressing any damn emotions. 

The only one there who didn’t care. He didn’t care and people got hurt because he couldn’t stand to be a decent fucking human being.

“— ou crying? Is this baby really crying?” Toomes laughed, crouching down in front of him. Peter wanted to get away, but as much as his traitorous body shook it for some reason could not _move_. 

“No, I’m not!” The crack in his voice said otherwise. Then he finally heard the broken hiccups, felt the tears pushing past his eyes, and felt an flush of embarrassment. God, he was such a child. Maybe Mr. Stark was right before. He wasn’t ready for any of this.

(Aunt May deserved a better kid than him.)

Peter tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t get enough air in. His chest tightened among his impossibly short heaves and his heart beating harder than a hammer. He couldn’t even count his heartbeats, could feel it trying to beat through his chest like a trapped animal, fast and desperate and about to break free. 

Toomes gripped his jaw, fingers digging into his cheeks. He struggled, attempting to push the man off but his hands couldn’t coordinate, leaving him uselessly grasping at whatever he could. He screamed, hoping by some miracle somebody would come. That Cap would come riding in on his motorcycle, or Wanda would fly in, or Tony would soar through.

“Shhh. Shhh.” The burglar slid the gun (why was it a gun, what happened to the knife?) up Peter’s throat, eyes displaying the hatred behind his mocking comfort. The barrel danced around his head before sliding down to his chest. “I’m deciding whether to shoot you in the head or in the chest. Head is faster, and I am happy to see your brains decorating the floor, but I kind of want your face intact. Let you feel yourself die. Have people identify the body of this idiot who thought he could save the world.”

Of course he couldn’t, not when the world spun all around him. The figures before him began to blur until Toomes was the only thing keeping his body upright. Was he still crying? That couldn’t be him, he couldn’t even breathe. His chest shuddered with every attempt, down to desperate wheezing as a last option. 

There was only one thing he could make out. His face, watching as he slowly died. 

God, he was going to die.

No. Nonononono that couldn’t - he couldn’t - he wasn’t going to die like this. Not like this.

“HELP!” 

He didn’t know if that saved him, or if it took all the strength he had left. But it didn’t matter. In the end his world went dark to the sound of gunfire.

* * *

Natasha watched Tony check on Peter’s vitals for the fifth time within the last two minutes. She was used to his incapability of keeping still, but watching him flutter around the room like a nervous butterfly was new. Usually it was out of boredom, but at that moment nothing else could be seen but anxiousness.

She admittedly forgot Tony could feel that sometimes. And that he felt it most of the time.

“Not gonna give him your ‘I told you so’ speech?” Steve pulled up beside her, passing her a file before looking at the duo through the observation window. The sight obviously didn’t sit well with him; she could see him start to tense up and his fingers start to twitch with the need to do something.

She huffed, taking the file. “You’re the one with the speeches, Steve. Besides, I think Wanda had it covered.” Tony, Wanda and Sam had been the ones to go after Peter once FRIDAY alerted them, being the fastest of the group. She didn’t know the full details of what happened, only that of the three people who attacked Peter, one was dead before they got there, and the other two were dealt with by Wanda. One was in a coma, the other going through such vivid nightmares that he wished he was.

Tony at the very least was only subjected to her verbal fury. Once Peter had been rushed to the medbay, Wanda had rounded on him, throwing sharp words and cutting into him until she thought he understood exactly why kids shouldn’t be doing their job.

And Tony… sat back and listened. He hung on her every word, face masking his reactions, or at least trying to. Natasha could see the guilt pushing down on his shoulders with every second, and knew that even if the kid got better, that was never going to go away.

Pulling her eyes away and opening the file, she quickly scanned the information. The men were easy to identify, all middle class workers, two married with kids, the other with a fiance and child in the process of adoption. None of them with anything more than speeding tickets on their record.

Which meant most to all of their lives were a lie. She highly doubted some random men could get blackmailed into doing this unless they had something worth giving, which, if she trusted the identities given (she didn’t), wasn’t likely. So either they had all fallen into the wrong crowd that gave them fake identities, or they actually lived these lives by day and were into torturing young heroes by night. 

“Anyone available for questioning?”

He shook his head. “Still recovering. We’re not even sure how to undo whatever Wanda did.”

“I highly doubt she’s motivated to help.”

“More motivated than you know. She wants to get to anyone involved in Peter’s attack.” She definitely had to check in with Wanda later. Whatever she saw in Peter must’ve been serious enough that within hours she was willing to kill for him.

Though, looking at Tony, Wanda wasn’t the only one. There was no telling what conditions Peter’s attackers would’ve been in had Tony gotten there before her.

Natasha glanced back up to see Tony adjust Peter’s pillow, and though they couldn’t hear, it was obvious that Tony was speaking to him, even while Peter was unconscious. “Never seen him like this,” Steve said.

And it was moments like that when she remembered how little time Steve got to spend with Tony. He didn't see the relentless plans after Sokovia, or the guilt that tore him up after the conference. He only got to see the stubborn, genius (on some levels, at least) side of him, and while that definitely was a significant part of Tony, it wasn't all of it.

Yet, Steve wasn't wrong. Nobody managed to get Tony like this. The closest would be Pepper, but even then, he never assumed responsibility over her, never doubted that she would pull through whatever crap they had to deal with. But at that moment, Tony treated Peter like, well, a kid.

She saw Tony check Peter's vitals yet again. Natasha had to find out more about this kid, and hoped that he was exactly who he said he was. Tony couldn’t handle another betrayal.

"What did Bruce and Helen find?"

"Stab and gunshot wound. He was right about the enhanced healing; anybody else and they would've been gone. Whoever shot him definitely was trying to bypass it. The bullet was laced with a drug to slow body functions: reaction time, metabolism, breathing. Somebody definitely targeted him for this." Natasha caught the clench in his jaw and the tension in his arms, ready to move at a second's notice, and was hit with another realization.

Steve was ready to fight for Peter. And as cautious as she'd like to be, she'd be lying if she wasn't willing to do the same.

* * *

Secretary Thaddeus Ross was finally turning his life around. Not to say he was doing bad to begin with; his success with the Accords, regardless of those who escaped, was nothing less than amazing. All the superhumans they had catalogued could be contained and maybe even be used for the safety of others. He was still working on permission on that front, but it’d be coming soon enough.

He kept the sneer off his face at the red-faced intern standing in his office. Whoever thought it’d be okay to send an errand-boy and not an actual official was going to get a dismissal paper flat on their desk. “Hello, sir.”

“Get to it, kid. What were the results?”

“Um,” He floundered through the pages in his hand, long enough for Ross to consider simply kicking him out and requesting someone else. He didn’t have time for this. “The tested samples from the bullet showed that the person is a brown-haired Caucasian male between sixteen and twenty-one.”

“Boys that fit that description are a dime a dozen in New York. If you don’t have anything useful, get out before I remove you myself.” Shit. He’d have to set up another situation in order to obtain more information, and he was already tired of bailing out his crew everyday. If only Spider-Man didn’t inhumanly dodge every tracer they tried to place on him, they’d be done already.

“B-but most importantly, we found traces of the OZ formula in his blood, along with, uh, traces of arachnid DNA.” Ross paused at the news, forcibly keeping a smile off his face. This was absolutely what he needed. A place to investigate, an origin of the abilities. And an excuse to see old Osborn and find out whatever the hell the man was hiding all these years. He always dodged their inquiries and put up fluff experiments whenever he couldn’t, and yet Ross didn’t have leeway to really delve in until now.

Besides, the OZ formula was an experiment commissioned by the government. A supposed failed one to get their own Captain America that was actually _for_ America, but even after deserting it to look for other avenues, any results were government property. _Spider-Man_ was government property. There was no way in hell he’d give up such an opportunity as this.

“Thanks. You can take your leave.” The intern nodded before scurrying out. Ross began to make a list of what he had to do. He had phone calls and visits to make. More importantly, by tomorrow he’d finally know who Spider-Man was and be on his way to finding out _what_ he was.

Stark kept him around for a reason, and seeing how he fought Ross could tell that he’d be an asset on their side. He’d just have to bring him over, but that wouldn’t be an issue. The United States was tired of being behind, and they were willing to do anything to get to where they should be.


	4. Bugle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finals week and I'm dying but at least this chapter brought me a bit of joy to write

**Tuesday, October 16th**

When Peter woke, he made what was likely the best decision at the time and refused to enter the waking world just yet. He kept his eyes closed, trying to piece together the fragments of memories from before and where he was now. By the antiseptic smell, the beeping beside him, the throbbing of his leg and abdomen, and the sound of Mr. Stark's feet pacing the ground, he also decided that he did not like where he was and would wait to handle real-life problems.

"Kid, I can tell you're awake. Get up already." Nevermind. He should've known by now that the problems always came to him first. He blinked his eyes open, flinching at the initial brightness. "Fri, dim the lights." Peter fully opened his eyes once the lights were down, finally looking at Mr. Stark. He had stopped his pacing, instead laying in a chair next to Peter's bed with a cup of water in hand. "Drink."

Peter took slow sips, delaying the conversation as long as possible. Last time he screwed up this bad, Mr. Stark took away the suit, and though Peter's (mostly) sure that it wouldn't happen again, there's no telling how he's going to react.

"What happened?" Mr. Stark asked once Peter was done. He's been trying to figure out the man's feelings, or at least somewhat guess at what's coming, but he was difficult to read.

“There was this group of robbers that would try to steal from stores and restaurants and stuff. That, in my defense, is very much in neighborhood territory, and so stopped them.”

Mr. Stark raised an eyebrow. “They didn’t look like they were finished.”

“Yeah, they kind of came back everyday for about a week now.” And _there_ was the reaction Peter was waiting for. Mr. Stark pinched his nose and sighed, looking for all the world like he was holding in a _‘what the hell, kid’_. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I handled them every time. They weren’t a problem.” Only last night, which was already very fuzzy, became a real issue. He didn’t expect them to escalate. He didn’t even expect them to return the next day when he dropped them off with the police.

“Kid, them showing up means two things: something’s keeping them out of jail, which in itself is an issue, and they’re popping up for a reason. Namely, for you.” Oh. _Oh_. On some level, Peter figured that there must’ve been some reason for them to return to the same areas they were caught, and that they never seemed to learn from their mistakes until last night, but for some reason it never really registered that it had something to do with him.

He flopped his head back onto his pillow and splayed his arms over his eyes. God, he was an idiot. “They let themselves get caught.” Every time he thought he was just dealing with idiots that had connections and didn’t know how to quit, but he was just being played.

“But not last night. What happened?”

He tried to recall as best as he could, though a lot of the details were out of reach. “I fought them in a bar. There were people there — they’d alway hit once places were closed, so it was weird — and they were cool with them being in the crossfire. That’s probably why they went in the first place.” Fighting criminals was one thing, but fighting them and protecting people at the same time? He’d always choose to protect others, and they knew that too. “Then...” 

The sniper. The girl. The shot.

He sat up, lifting the sheets to see a bandage wrapped around his right thigh. All the fighting he’d done, and that was the first time he got shot. Part of him was shocked it didn’t happen earlier. Part of him couldn’t process that it happened at all. Alien weapons, enhanced humans, and he nearly gets taken out by a bullet?

“You’ll be off it for a while. Well, a while for you is really just a few days.” Mr. Stark’s voice lightened up, and Peter looked over to see a smirk on his face. “Guess, since you’re out of commission, we’ll just have to spend more time in the lab.”

“Are you serious?” Peter pumped his fist in the air, wincing as the movement pulled on his wound. Right. “Also, what happened here?” He laid a hand on his abdomen, and watched the smirk leave Mr. Stark’s face.

“You got stabbed. The responsible parties are in holding, but aren’t too talkative at the moment.” Peter started at that. He got _stabbed_ and he didn’t even remember? What else happened? Why couldn’t his memories form past the shooting? “You really don’t remember anything?”

“Everything’s a blur after I got…” He tapped his leg, unwilling to say it out loud. “I don’t have any head injuries, do I?” Not like he’d remember getting one, but he definitely didn’t feel like he got one. 

Mr. Stark shook his head. “The bullet was laced with something. Probably to make the three-on-one easier, assuming all of them were working together. If they weren’t, at the very least it would’ve made you vulnerable.”

Vulnerable, but not dead. They could’ve started this plan earlier in the week. They could’ve killed him in the bar. They could’ve chased him down and ended him in the alley. But they didn’t. They wanted to hurt him, but they also wanted him to live.

And he had no idea why.

* * *

May Parker didn’t often contemplate her sanity. In New York, there wasn’t much room for it. Aliens falling out the sky? Shelter and move on. Men flying past her window? Loud but she’d deal. It wasn’t until she walked in on her nephew wearing red and blue that she truly wondered about how insane the world had become. 

And how insane she had to be to let her nephew be a part of it.

She put two plates of macaroni on the table. Well, a plate for her, and the rest of the pot for him. He was healing, after all, and was going to need it. Tony hadn’t said much about what happened, only that Peter had been injured and needed to stay the night to be treated. Not helpful, but her attempts at grilling him were met with ‘once I know, you’ll know.’

May wasn’t sure if she was glad that Tony wasn’t hiding anything or terrified that there was something Tony didn’t know. 

She heard the sound of keys at the door and stood up, preparing her speech. Ben would’ve already known what to say; he was much better with discipline than she ever was. He probably would’ve managed to talk Peter down from risking his life every night instead of caving after a week. But, as she reminded herself way too often, Ben wasn’t there.

Peter closed the door, and May winced at the sound of a crutch hitting the floor as he made his way inside. What was she thinking? “Aunt May?”

“Kitchen.”

She could feel her heart sink the second he came into view. A few bruises showed on his face, his left leg and crutch supporting his weight. Every movement pulled his shirt slightly up allowing the bandages around his stomach to peek through. “Uh, hey —” 

“What happened!” She rushed over, hands uselessly fluttering over his injuries as if she could do something about them. 

“Uh —”

“Where were you?” The questions all tumbled out, any remnants of a speech forgotten. “Who did this? Where was Stark? Oh so help me, once I get my hands on him —”

“Listen —”

“How bad are you hurt?” She ushered him to sit down, mind frantic with all the possible scenarios that would have led to this. “Are the people who did this still out there?”

“May, I’ll explain everything.”

“And you’ll have the time to. You’re not going out in your suit anytime soon.” The thought of him ever going out at all was enough to make her hands shake, but that was something to be dealt with later on. “For now, eat, explain, and for the love of God get some rest. You can stay home from school if you need to.”

The incredulous look aimed her way forced a laugh out of her. Of course, this precious kid who made it his goal to protect his neighborhood and save lives also couldn’t fathom the thought of missing a day of school. As if he wasn’t amazing enough already.

“I don’t think it’s that serious.”

“You can barely walk!”

“...I’m getting better.”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. There was no stopping this kid. Not unless drastic measures were taken, and May didn’t see the need for them yet. He rubbed at the back of his head, mouth twisting in an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Aunt May. But I’ll be okay. I just needed to help.”

She sighed, letting the tension leave her body and sat down. “I know. And I’m proud that you do.” She held back the words just on the edge of her tongue, wanting to be spilled. _I’m just terrified that one day you’ll need help, and there won’t be anything I can do._

* * *

“Looks like all is well, Peter.” Dr. Banner tossed out the bandages that had been making it's very uncomfortable home on Peter's abdomen and leg for the last four days. He was glad to see it gone, and with little evidence of the initial injury to begin with. “You say there's no pain —”

“There isn't.” Mr. Stark huffed, but didn't comment. Peter rolled his eyes. The man needed to relax, he hadn't since Peter was shot and always second guessed Peter's assessments of his injuries. He knew his body! It's not like he ever lied about getting hurt... at least, never lied once Mr. Stark found out he was hurt.

What the man didn't know about his occasional... falls (more like epic fails), didn't hurt him. Mr. Stark worried enough as it was.

“ — and there'll be a bit of scarring, but it's healed over much better than I thought it would. You're cleared, Mr. Parker.”

Peter pumped a fist into the air and flipped off the medbay bed despite Dr. Banner’s protests. “Still take it easy. You're not quite in good-as-new shape. You're a bit weaker and will have to do some exercises to get back to how you were.” He nodded, grinning at Mr. Stark's exasperated face as he rushed out into the kitchen.

“Exercising is not gonna be a problem, Dr. Banner. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful and won’t get hurt —” He bumped into a wall, wincing as his head hit. “Okay, _now_ I'll be more careful. Just…” His words trailed off as he looked up at the wall that was, in fact, not a wall at all. He stared at a large chest, and turned his head up to see a long-haired blond man with an eyebrow raised.

Thor. Thor was here. He just bumped into Thor and _ohmygodit'sThor_.

“I was not aware children were being enlisted now. Either you are an incredibly formidable warrior, or we are in incredibly dire times.”

“Thor!" He finally managed to push out once his mouth started working. "You're here! You're literally in my physics textbook! I have so many questions. What's Asgard like? How's space? Do Asgardians need oxygen or do they just fly up there? How do you fly, by the way? The hammer seems like it would pull your arm off before —” 

“Thor, you've met Peter. Rambling fanboy, meet Thor.” Mr. Stark patted him on the shoulder and gave a thin smile towards Thor, who clapped him on the back so hard that Mr. Stark nearly fell over.

“Oh, so you have a child? I would have thought you and Pepper would —”

“Not my kid. Does give me headaches from time to time though. This is Spider-Man.” Thor tilted his head, then pointed towards the nearby TV in the kitchen where Clint watched and drank coffee straight from the pot.

“That Spider-Man?” Peter looked at the screen and cringed. God, there were few people he hated more than — 

_“J. Jonah Jameson here on the Daily Bugle to bring you pressing news! The public menace known as Spider-Man, after being involved in a shootout altercation in a bar that put several New York residents in danger, has gone off the map. Don't believe for a second that he's gone forever, because as super-villains do, he's likely planning something big!”_

Peter groaned, wiping a hand down his face. He didn't know where the animosity came from, but he knew that if he ever saw the man in person, he would not be able to hold back a punch.

"Tangentially related." He grabbed a juice from the fridge, shaking his head at Clint's silent offer of coffee.

“Don't listen to him, kid." He said after finishing the pot, which, after seeing him do so about five times so far, stopped being as worrying as it should. “We get slandered by media outlets all the time. Hell, most of us have been declared criminals by the government at one point or another. Brush it off and you'll be fine.”

“Yeah, doesn't mean the Daily Bugle won’t suddenly find their billboard covered in long-lasting webbing one day.”

Clint’s eyes lit up and he recognized the look of mischief, not different from MJ when she wanted to mess with Flash, and Peter grinned. Oh, he so knew what he was doing once he finally got the suit back.

Thor stared at the screen a bit longer, watching a clip of Peter as he tossed a car at a glitching government drone (which, apparently was destruction of property and didn’t save lives, according to the man with a caterpillar on his face). Eventually, he turned to Peter, excitement bright on his face. “Child, how strong are you?”

“Stronger than average?” He grabbed onto Peter’s wrist and began to lead him through the compound, Peter struggling not to trip as he tried to match Thor’s huge strides. Clint yelled out about how ‘Thor’s taking the kid for a spin’ and somehow Wanda, Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner ended up behind them. Should he be worried? This was the god of thunder, he felt like he should be at least a tiny bit worried.

“I demand a display! This will be most interesting to see. It is not often I see such power,” he glanced backwards at him, “especially from such a tiny body.”

“Hey! I’m lean, not frail. And my height is perfectly fine for guys my age.” Thor let go once they got to a pair of double doors and pressed a hand onto the scanner in front of them. The doors opened into a training room that had to be larger than his school gym, with punching bags (several on the ground leaking sand), treadmills and more. In the middle there was a series of mats, where Ms. Romanoff currently had Sam pinned to the ground. Cap had been watching the match, calling it off once he saw the rest of them come in.

“Rogers! Peter must be tested at once.” Ms. Romanoff rolled off of Sam, wiping her hands off on her shirt as she smirked.

“Oh, this is going to be interesting.”

“Please don’t break him,” Mr. Stark called out, examining Peter the same way he did DUM-E, doubtful about things working out but not willing to actually say no. “Although we still have the abilities measurements for the intake to do. So, bend, don’t break.”

“Exactly, we don’t want more visits to the infirmary.” A bit of red flared around Wanda, and Peter got the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t be the one in the medbay. 

“Arm-wrestling is always an option.” Clint pulled up a table from one of the break areas, leaning his elbow on it and wiggling his eyebrows in a ‘triple dog dare you’ fashion that Peter could _not_ refuse. Not when Clint totally earned the payback for blue-shelling him in Mario Kart yesterday. “Worst case is a sprained wrist.”

“Sounds bad for an archer.” He leaned forward to put his own elbow down on the table and grasped Clint’s right hand, matching his smirk with his own. “Ms. Romanoff, could you referee?” Ms. Romanoff appeared beside them, glancing at Peter as she held up three fingers for the countdown.

“As if I’d let anybody else do it.” She gave him one of her smiles, both playful and sincere that he always saw around the others. “By the way, Peter, my friends call me Natasha. I’d appreciate it if you would too.”

His mind nearly shut down as he realized that Black Widow considered him a friend. She actually liked him. He didn’t get time to respond as she began to count, putting each finger down.

“3, 2, 1, Go!”

The second she finished speaking, a thump sounded. Clint blinked, looking at his hand laying flat on the table underneath Peter’s, the match ending so fast he didn’t even know when his arm had moved. Peter stood back up with a triumphant grin on his face. “You lose.”

Clint sputtered, straightening up. “That’s not fair! I wasn’t ready!” Sam clapped him on the back, mocking sympathy as his shoulders moved with silent laughter.

“You got beat by a Spider-kid. Happens to us all, buddy.” He then turned and nodded to Cap. “You have to be next.”

Peter’s inner-fanboy squealed at the idea of arm-wrestling with Captain America because _this was his life now_ , but maintained his cool as he got back down in position, Cap following suit with a small smile on his face.

“I’ve seen you out there, Queens. Don’t go easy on me ‘cause I won’t go easy on you.” He grasped his hand and they waited for the countdown, Peter’s thoughts suddenly going to how sweaty his hands were, and nearly missed the start.

Unlike with Clint, there was definitely resistance. They remained in the middle for a while as the members around them cheered for either of them. Peter was about to call it quits and say they were equal, until slowly Cap’s hand started to lean back. He almost thought it was a joke or that he had gotten tired, but one look at the straining muscles and bulging veins in Cap’s arm proved otherwise. Peter was winning against Captain America giving his all.

Soon enough, Peter had Cap’s hand pinned and he let out a breathless, “Oh my God.” He just won against Captain America.

He was stronger than Captain America.

The thought finally processed and he jumped up, adrenaline and pride washing through him. Mr. Stark ruffled his hair, a grin on his face. “Knew it.” 

Cap rolled his shoulder, but his expression seemed to match Mr. Stark’s. “Glad you didn’t quit, Queens. Nice arm.”

“Okay kid, looks like you need to find your upper limit.” Mr. Stark activated his watch, and red and gold nanites swarmed to form the gauntlet of his Iron Man suit. “Let's go. Last round.”

Peter got into position, mind on every superhuman feat Mr. Stark had accomplished with his armor, and though he wanted nothing more than to know that he was at least on the same level of strength as the man who had saved him countless times, he had to concede. Still, if he wanted to find out how far his strength went, going against the same man that carried a nuke and withstood the pressures of outer space was definitely one way to go about it. Ms. Romanoff counted down once more, and once she said go, they began.

The gauntlet hummed loudly as Mr. Stark put more energy into it, and it took all Peter had just to not go down. Within a few seconds his arm was shaking, but he refused to budge from his spot. He had to know if he could stock up against him. After the ferry, and the lake, and the shooting, he had to know that he could at least be as strong as the man who saved him.

Mr. Stark smiled at Peter, mischief clear in his eyes. “You know, this kind of reminds me of that one party we were at.”

“There's too much alcohol at your parties for me to even be legal to stand on the sidewalk outside them. Also, stop distracting me.”

“Not distracting you, and not talking about you. You remember, right Thor?”

Peter tried to ignore the conversation going on, straining even harder against the gauntlet.

“Aye. All of your attempts at my hammer. Truly entertaining.”

“Tell you what kid, you beat me, we can try the hammer next.” The thought of even attempting to lift Mjolnir was both terrifying and exciting, and the sliver of hope that he might be able to lift it made Peter double-down on the match. His muscles strained, and he was sure that his hand was going to ache for a while, but he'd be able to handle it.

The gauntlet creaked in his grip, and he could hear Mr. Stark let out a groan of pain as it dented around his hand. His very _human and vulnerable_ hand. An image of the metal crushing was popped up in his head, and Peter softened up an inch as fear briefly flashed through him.

The next thing he knew, his hand was pressed into the table by the red and gold glove. Mr. Stark let go, an eyebrow raised as if he wanted to ask something, but then seemed to decide against it. “Found the upper limit.”

“Hard to beat something powered by energy.”

“Everything's powered by energy, kid.”

“You know what I mean." Peter rubbed at his hand. "Food power and arc reactor power are completely different —” The back of his head tingled and Peter spun around on his heel, catching an arrow right before the tip would've made an unfortunate entry through his skull. He looked up to see Clint on top of one of many bars hanging halfway to the ceiling, though there didn't seem to be any clear way of actually making it up there.

“What the hell, Barton!” Mr. Stark had aimed his hand at Clint, ready for a fight, before putting it down, changing the gauntlet back into his watch

“Chill out, Stark.” Ms. Romanoff plucked the arrow from Peter’s hands, poking the top. “Tip’s blunt and made out of rubber. Would’ve hurt like hell, but I don’t think anything less would have sent off Peter’s sixth sense.” 

“How’d you know about that?” Peter turned to her as Clint flipped down from the beam and miraculously landed on his feet as he came over. Mr. Stark aimed a glare at him before his watch flashed and he turned around to check whatever alert had been set off. Peter used to be interested in those, but quickly got bored once he realized most of them were from Pepper about SI.

“Something kept you alive this long without training. And it was easy to notice during the first mission how you dodged before ever seeing a threat.” 

“Uh, yeah. My friend called it my Spidey-sense.”

Clint snickered. “Seriously? Spidey-sense?” He started to laugh until red flashed in the middle of his bow, and it promptly snapped in half. His face dropped, and he looked to Wanda in horror, who only crossed her arms with a mildly smug expression. “Wanda, that was my bow!”

“Buy a new one.” She said simply, and turned away, although Peter could see a glimpse of a smile she tried to hide. “As you were saying, Peter.”

She officially jumped to the top five coolest people Peter knew.

“Right. I think it’s something about spiders being really sensitive to vibrations. All my senses are kind of dialed up, so it’s just kind of another one on the list. Don’t know why it only responds to real dangers, though.”

“Yeah well, fun as this is,” Mr. Stark clapped him on the back, “this little one is due for dinner before I give your aunt yet another reason to become the next supervillain.” 

“I think she has enough reasons, it’s just willpower at this point.”

“Even more reason not to test it. Let’s go.” Mr. Stark dragged him off as Peter waved at the rest of the Avengers.

“Nice meeting you, Thor!”

“And you as well!” Thor nodded his head, a grand smile on his face. “It is an honor to be fighting alongside you.” 

Mr. Stark pulled him through the door and into the nearest elevator. He held up a finger, keeping Peter from speaking. “First, any fight that Thor needs to be in is a fight that you should definitely stay away from.”

“But —” 

“Nope. Second, found out who those guys who attacked you were.” Peter straightened in attention. They finally had a lead after days of searching with no results. He had tried not to think about it too hard, but it was difficult not to knowing that most of the people he’d been fighting were still out there. “They were ex-government agents working under the Department of Defense.” 

The news clicked together all the pieces he’s been trying to sort out since the fight in the restaurant. The revolving door in NYPD custody. The government-issued armor which probably wasn’t stolen. But what didn’t click was _why_. He didn’t do anything that would make it personal against him. “Why were old government agents after me?”

“We don’t know yet. But considering their style, I’m assuming they have some friends still working with the DOD, which means that there might be a leak, which I’m sure they’ll be happy to close with our help.”

The doors opened out into the basement parking lot, where Happy was waiting by his usual ride. He tapped his watch hurriedly once they were in sight before going inside and starting the car.

“Why’d you tell me before everyone else?” Peter usually was the last to find out about anything Spider-Man and Avengers related, so for Mr. Stark to drop the information the second he found out was odd but something he had really wanted. He was finally trusted with this stuff.

“Yeah, well, I’m assuming you’re not the vendetta-type, and as they’re your attackers, it’s your right to know.” Mr. Stark wrinkled his nose, as if the sentence itself was too much for him to say. He nodded towards the car, giving Peter a light push. “Off you go. Make sure you have your permission slip signed for the next trip.”

Peter turned around, needing to say one last thing. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. For helping me that night. And everything after.” 

He blinked, looking a bit taken aback before regaining his cool expression, though the wrinkle in his nose was back. “Yeah, well, try not to get into situations like that again, okay? You only get one allowance per life-time.”

“I’ll try. Promise.” He waved, dashing into the car and soon Happy left the Compound, listening to Peter recall his day meeting a god.


	5. Lessons Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: shock collars, threats of school shooting  
> If there are any tags I missed, please let me know

**Monday, October 22nd**

"Dude, you met Thor!" Ned's eyes widened in awe. Peter shushed him, glancing around to see if anybody had heard. Thankfully, Mr. Harrington was pulled outside the classroom by an administrator for a minute, so the class was loud and filled with jeers, conversations, gossip and whatever weird competition was going on at the back of the room. 

His eyes landed on MJ, who doodled in her book. Apparently having a sixth sense (he's convinced that she may be hiding that as a power, there are just some things that should be impossible to know and yet she did), she looked up and met his gaze. With a half-smile, she lifted up her book to show her sketch of Flash eating the ringer bell from Decathlon practice.

He snorted as she went back to drawing, and turned his attention back to Ned. "Yeah, I met him. Dude is huge. But also really cool. I was this close to being able to pick up Mjolnir."

"Why didn't you?"

"...I lost an arm-wrestling match to Mr. Stark. But I beat Cap though!"

"You beat — !" Peter covered Ned's mouth, sighing in relief as Mr. Harrington walked back in. Class was not the best place to talk about this, even though he had to let Ned know how crazy Saturday was. There was no way he could just sit on the fact that he met the god of thunder and arm-wrestled Avengers. He already talked May’s ear off all of Sunday, and he had to tell his best friend.

"Uh, Peter?" Mr. Harrington had a solemn look on his face, immediately sending Peter on edge. He rarely saw him so serious, usually only when remembering something awful. “They want you down in the front office.” His classmates all gave varying degrees of curious looks. Some only glanced, others whispered, and Flash, well — 

“What’d you do now, Parker?” 

— was being Flash. Even the too-cool-to-care-but-totally-did attitude was expected. He only got called down a few times and most students weren’t called down by an administrator. Everyone seemed interested in him as a result, wanting to know what he’d done.

Ignoring the looks of everyone else, packed up his things and with a wave to MJ and Ned, left class. Last time this happened, Happy was there to pick him up, and while he was absolutely up for another mission with Mr. Stark and the other Avengers (and he would _never_ get over the fact that he could truthfully say that outloud), they didn’t seem too keen on letting him get back to web-slinging yet. May got his suit from Mr. Stark yesterday, and he’s supposed to get it back later with tons of new protocols he and Ned would have to take out. So, this was either a surprise trip and they sent someone terrifying to pick him up or…

Peter froze once he opened the door. The back of his head buzzed, and his hands shook in as if he just woke up from a nightmare. Please, let this be a nightmare.

A cop stopped talking to the secretary, turning to him with a grave face. “Peter Parker?”

_“I’m so sorry. There was a burglar…”_

“It’s not my Aunt May, is it?” No, no, no, he just saw her this morning! She was fine, she went to work, she sent him a text during lunch break about some funny patient she’d seen. 

“...It’d be easier to talk to you somewhere private.” The cop gestured to one of the meeting rooms off to the side. Peter followed him blindly, mind tearing itself apart by coming with increasingly worse scenarios and denying each and every one. He was guided to one of the chairs, where he sat down, and asked all the questions bursting in his head.

“Did something happen to her at work? Is she at the hospital? Is she okay?” The officer held up a hand, pulling out his phone.

“Your aunt was abducted today during a break at work.”

His mind raced. Did someone find out who he was? Was she taken because of him? Or did she have a creepy patient, or maybe it was someone who she had known before? He could barely voice these, but managed to force out, “What? Who —”

“Don’t worry. She’ll be back, safe and sound, if we work together, okay?” His spidey-sense grew louder, and he stared at the officer’s face, even when he was pulling up something on his phone. Something wasn’t right with any of this. “This is her right now.”

Peter glanced down and his heart stopped. May’s hair was a mess, as if someone had been repeatedly running their hands through it or grabbing it. Black tear tracks marred her face, and her eyes were rimmed red. Yet all of this paled in comparison to the object in the photo.

A gun. The barrel was pressed up against her head, and the very image made him want to heave and cry.

Instead, he mustered up his anger and focused on getting her back. He glared at the ‘officer’ and grasped his collar, pulling him close and ignored the sound of threads tearing underneath his fingers. “Who the hell are you and what did you do to her?”

“I’m your only way she’ll be safe. There’s a car outside. If I’m not there with you in the next two minutes, she won’t live in the next three.” 

He didn’t have a choice. This was Aunt May, and there wasn’t nearly enough time. He let go of the man’s collar and scowled, standing up. The officer returned a smug smile. “Knew you were smart. Now, just in case you decide to start a scene, it’s about time for you kids to go to your next class.” His hand drifted down to the gun holstered at his thigh. “Now, I know you’re fast, but how many bullets do you think I can fire off before you stop me? And in a hallway full of students, chances are all those bullets are gonna find a target whether I aim or not.”

Peter wanted nothing more than to throw this man through the window, but there was too much on the line. It didn’t matter what he wanted, it mattered that everyone was safe. He nodded, and they left the room, saying nothing to the secretary giving him a sympathetic look and a wave. Their feet squeaked loudly on the linoleum, and somewhere in his head was the hope that someone could hear them and would show up, could see how _wrong_ this officer was and that Peter shouldn’t be going anywhere near him, could find Aunt May on their own before anything happened to her. 

They got to the car too soon. The man opened the door and shoved Peter in the backseat, following to sit next to him. The doors locked and he lightly pulled at one of the handles. He was in the car. All he had to do was ask for proof of Aunt May’s safety and he could bust down the door and roll out. He’d survive the fall, not so sure about any incoming cars, but it had to be better than this.

"Now, kid, let’s make this easy."

The police officer took out a gas mask just as hissing filled the back of the car. Peter used his hoodie to cover his mouth and ears, blinking through his burning eyes as he turned and aimed a kick for the door.

His foot bounced off as pain shot up his ankle and there was barely a dent, and it finally processed that they _knew_. He kicked the window instead, finding the impact just as hard and strong as the windows in Mr. Stark’s lab and the Washington Monument. _Bulletproof._ He kicked again and again as the officer tried to restrain him. If he was unconscious, he couldn't do anything, which meant that whoever this was could do whatever they wanted. Like hell he'd let that happen. Not when — 

The phone was shoved into his face, May's photo squeezing his heart harder than anything ever could. He could see a green bar at the top, showing a phone call in progress as of four seconds ago.

"I have them on the line right now. You truly want her to be safe? Don't fight."

"I want proof." His voice came out slurred, but the man got his point. It didn't matter either way.

"Too bad. You either guarantee she dies or hope for a chance that she's alive. You choose."

It wasn't a choice. He lowered his arm, fighting the want to hold his breath and instead took it in. Dizziness overcame him, and soon enough he was out, hoping with all he had that May would be okay.

* * *

Peter woke up with a start, jumping to his feet and swaying as he got his bearings. The room didn’t spin, but the ground underneath him felt anything but still, slow but steadily rocking. He lifted a hand up to his neck, feeling a weight on it as he surveyed his surroundings and tried to gather what was going on. He was just in the car with that man, and he’d been knocked out, and Aunt May was in trouble and maybe still was in trouble — 

He noticed someone staring at him. Three metal walls (didn’t look like steel, he had to check later) surrounded him, with a clear glass one in front of him. A silver-haired man stood on the other side of the glass, doing nothing but examining him with a stone face, making it impossible to know what he was thinking. Peter tugged on the metal collar around his neck, feeling around to see where there was a weak spot, his brain trying to accomplish fifty tasks at once.

“Who are you?”

“Sir.” 

“Excuse me?”

“When you speak to me, you address me as ‘Sir’. That’s your first lesson.” 

His hand turned into fists as he moved to the glass, banging on it. “Where’s May?” The force reverberated back up his arm, leaving it shaking. Great. That was going to be a blast breaking through, if he even could. 

The man ignored him, stepping closer and eyeing him up and down. “I know who you are, Peter Parker. You thought that you could just swing around, assaulting United States citizens —”

“People were in danger!” Peter gritted his teeth, letting his anger take control to ignore the ice-cold fear running through his veins. He knew that they figured it out, but to have confirmation that the man in front of him and who-knows-how-many people knew about Spider-man made his heart pound like never before. That meant they didn’t have to stop at Aunt May; they could go after MJ, Ned, maybe even his entire class. They could give every bad guy in the city his name and everything he loved could be burned to the ground in seconds.

He took a deep breath. And another. He couldn’t do anything about it while he was stuck in here. He had to fix that first.

“Yes, especially with you as the cause. You’re a loose cannon. You destroyed an American monument, nearly killed a man without due process, and have caused millions in property damage.” 

“Then take me to court! You have no right to keep me here, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“According to the United Nations, your presence puts people in danger, and I have every right to protect the public from you. It’s honestly rather generous of me to ask for your cooperation first.” 

Peter racked his brain for something, anything that could get him out of there, but nothing came up. There wasn’t much information except the guy was extremely patriotic and had enough power to kidnap both him and May. The cop could’ve been an actor, and the car could’ve been stolen, but that still left how they even found out about his identity. 

He leaned on the glass, opening his hands and pleading. “I’ll cooperate, okay? Just, please, I just need proof that my aunt’s okay.”

The man stared him down before sighing, and reaching up to a comm in his ear. “Open the doors. Bring her in.” His heart leaped and he tried to get a look down the hallway, where he could hear the locks turning. She was here. She was okay. He just needed to see her to know that he’d make it through all of this.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man press a button on a remote in his hand. 

Peter didn’t even process hitting the floor. His muscles seized in pain as a current ran through them, and his mind just barely made the connection between the collar on his neck and the fire tearing through his body.

The man turned to leave as heels clicked towards him. He could only make out the tray of food left on the floor in front of the glass as the woman turned right back around and left without. “Parker, I don’t have much patience when it comes to teaching. Requests are for smart people who’ve earned the right. You want to earn it, you have to keep up with the lessons. Now, what did I teach you?”

His mouth no longer followed his commands. It could barely form any words, throat locked up and lips unwilling to move, leaving Peter stuttering on the ground. “S-s-s—” He wasn’t even sure what word would come out, just as likely to be cursing the man up and down as he would be to finally do as the man wanted. 

“We’ll try again, later. We want to do the best thing for everyone involved. Your volition is preferred, but it’s not necessary.” The man’s footsteps faded away, leaving Peter to stare at the man across from him. He wore a loose blue shirt on top of a grey sweater, with blue pants to match, and strangely enough a red and black mask on his head, facing away. He stirred, appearing to wake up from his sleep, even though Peter’s pretty sure he’d been up most of the time.

He groaned, turning to face him. “All I ask is for one night of prison beauty sleep, one —” He froze once his white-lensed gaze landed on Peter. “Well, fuck me with a katana.”


End file.
